When the cigarette had burnt its course, Adam casually extinguished the dying cherry in his large dark palm and slipped the remains into a pocket. He settled with both heavy mitts buried in the pockets of his trench while he watched the denizens of Bain & Hoyle. He casually eavesdropped on conversations, often puzzled by the undercurrents of speech and posturing. Unmoving, Adam listened while Atticus revealed the “personal matter” and asked for volunteers, then he regarded the subsequent confrontation over the one called Max.
The golem had no stake there in Atticus’ personal matter. The name Max meant as much to him as the ancient and worn stones that presently circled the crew, which was to say -- it meant nothing at all. Nothing more than a passing curiosity, a tidbit of knowledge to be filed away and pondered upon at length later, perhaps. It was the reactions of others, particularly the woman with bright red hair, that kindled something in the golem, however. A sense of loss, the ache of longing for the unattainable. The golem could empathize there, for as much as he was capable for empathizing.
Adam had lost his own love not long after he had joined Bain & Hoyle. He had been mostly rudderless in those days, searching for balance, for purpose. Reconciling the life of service he had led with the one he had agreed to join. He would wander, lost in thoughts, and it was during one such wandering that he first saw Her in the city streets one night. He named her Eve. She stood alone in a window, the most beautiful creature Adam had ever seen. Hair that shone like the sun, lips red as ruby, eyes that consumed him. She had seemed so sad at first, but then she had smiled. Smiled only for him, and none other. For weeks, he had come night after night to visit her, standing before her with only a fragile pane of glass to separate them. Both of them motionless, even while Adam’s enchanted heart threatened to tear from his mighty chest. Staring at one another, silently longing, uncertain how to express the affections that Adam was certain they both felt.
Then one night, she was simply gone, and another stood in her place.
Adam kept returning, hoping to find Eve waiting. She never was. He even entered the building she lived, asking after her, but uniformed humans came and chased him away with confusing questions.
Every window that he passed, Adam still looked for her. He always would.
The questions of personal motivation did not concern him, nor did the ramifications of what the ankh could mean for all life. Nor did any other factor enter play, not even the ensuing squabble. Adam understood what it was to long for lost love, and for that reason alone, he found himself ponderously stepping forward, the ground seeming to shudder subtly with each purposeful step until he stood near center of the stone circle, a towering edifice of sheer strength and undying resolve. His shaded eyes regarded Atticus.
“I will seek the ankh,” said the golem in a voice so low and forceful it thrummed in the chests of those nearby.
